


Stockholm

by sheesusnat



Category: Hockey RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Rare Pair, no really really rare pair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 04:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13628754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheesusnat/pseuds/sheesusnat
Summary: It all comes back to Stockholm in the end.





	Stockholm

**Author's Note:**

> Rough timeline here begins in June 2014 for the 1D concert in Sweden, and it jumps ahead through the years to current time. If you want a little primer about William Karlsson, 1D fans, he's a 25 year old Swedish NHL player, currently the leading goal-scorer for the Vegas Golden Knights. He's also unabashedly a 1D fan.

It all started in Stockholm.

 

Niall learned young that if he wanted a night out, the more of a dive the pub was, the safer a bet it was for him to go unnoticed. So he found a tiny bar on a dark road at the far edge of downtown; he just wanted to have a drink in peace. No fans crowding in around him, no paparazzi flashing cameras.

 

He strolled into the pub and everyone in the place was glued to the TV, watching coverage for some hockey game. He was pretty sure it wasn't even on yet, but everyone was focused on the screen anyway.

 

He found himself on a stool next to someone about his same age, with blonde hair tucked behind his ears, speaking in rapid Swedish to the man next to him, gesturing wildly. He bumped his elbow into Niall and spinned to press a hand to his arm where he'd struck. "Förlåt!"

 

Niall's brow raised and he chuckled. He knew no Swedish, but he could guess the context. "Uh, that's alright, bud…"

 

The other man smiled and transitioned easily to heavily accented English. "I'm sorry, we were talking about Lundqvist and I was excited." He eyed Niall curiously, his head tilted off to one side. "Are you…?" He started, then seemed to think better of it.

 

"Niall," he introduced himself. Rarely did a man in a sports bar know who Niall was--their girlfriends knew, their sisters knew, sometimes their _moms_ knew, but usually not the men themselves. It didn't seem worth pretending to be someone else. The exit was easy enough to find, he could duck out quickly if need be.

 

"I'm a fan," the other man nodded, extending a hand. It was warm. Calloused. "Lars, but friends call me Bill."

 

That didn't make much sense, but Niall wasn't going to ask further. "I rarely find fans in a place like this."

 

"Hockey players," Bill said, as if it explained everything. "All the guys I train with love 1D."

 

Huh. So this Bill was a hockey player. And hockey players liked One Direction? That was news to him.

 

"Let me get you a drink," Bill waved down the bartender, presumably a friend. "My buddy here, get him whatever he wants."

 

Much to Niall's surprise, no one else in the bar seemed to know or care who he was, and he was able to stay there until well past one in the morning, found himself watching the beginning of the hockey game the bar had been waiting for. He found he actually liked the game; it moved quickly like football--real football, not that stuff they played over in the States. Bill explained that he'd been drafted, but he hadn't made it to the NHL.

 

"Yet," he insisted, clinking his glass to Niall's.

 

Niall didn't mean to stay for the whole game. It was being played in New York, so by the time it ended, it was the middle of the night in Stockholm. He was pleasantly buzzed and leaning heavily into Bill. He liked Bill. He liked Bill a lot.

 

"You wanna split a cab to your hotel?" Bill offered when the bartender finally insisted on kicking them out.

 

Niall looked Bill over while he paid the tab. He was thicker than Niall everywhere, more muscular. His legs were probably twice the size of Niall's. He filled out a pair of skinny jeans in a distinctly different way--Niall wasn't entirely sure how his rear end _fit_ in them.

 

Bill was snapping his fingers, smiling bemused, attempting to get his attention. "Niall? Hey, hi. Do you want to split a cab to your hotel?"

 

"Are you going to stay when we get there?" He was rarely this bold. But it was after four in the morning and he was a bit drunk, he'd never been in Stockholm and he'd never met a hockey player before.

 

Bill's lips curled into a smile that might have been a little bit mischievous, or maybe that was some combination of wishful thinking and the lingering effect of the alcohol. Bill still called for a cab.

 

He stayed with Niall that night.

____

 

They exchanged numbers and snapchat handles, but it felt like a formality. They'd hooked up. It was good. But Niall was touring and Bill was training, so it was just that, a hook up.

 

Only a few months later, Bill sent him a video of a locker room, somewhere in the US, with _Night Changes_ playing, and him lipsyncing the words soulfully, hamming up the performance. And then after a few more months, he sent a picture from an arena corridor where there hung a poster from One Direction's last show there, with Bill standing to one side, in a suit, looking into the distance as if he were part of the shot.

 

Niall started sending his own pictures back. He found himself looking for hockey games on TV. He'd looked up Bill's stats and kept an eye on his team. When Bill was traded to Columbus, Niall offered to send him tickets for their show there that summer.

 

_i'm coming to see u in gothenburg 1st_

 

Niall sent him tickets to the Columbus show anyway. And put his name on the list in Gothenburg.

 

Bill spent the night with him both times.

____

 

The pictures came more regularly after that. Bill carved himself a niche in Columbus, he was playing regularly, traveling with the team. He'd made friends. He sent Niall videos of them playing video games at home. He sent a video of one of his teammates--Boone, Bill had called him, Niall wasn't sure if that was his real name or not--singing and dancing to _That's What Makes you Beautiful_ in the car while he drove.

 

Hockey players really _did_ like 1D.

 

Suddenly, meanwhile, 1D wasn't 1D anymore. Not quite. It was just a hiatus, that was the company line. But Zayn was gone and Harry was making movies and Louis was having a _kid_ ; everything changed so quickly and Niall wasn't really sure where it left him. It was nice to have a break, to not have tour dates waiting, to not have time scheduled in a studio to crank out an album.

 

So he traveled. He explored the world with friends, sometimes alone. He went days without cell service, cut off from the world at large. The anonymity was soothing. He had a notebook and started to write, lyrics and melodies, words that came while he hiked, while he slept under open skies miles from civilization. He thought about Harry and Liam, Louis and Zayn...thought of Bill too, if he was being honest with himself.

 

After his self-imposed break from reality, he found himself itching to create, inspiration coursing in his veins the minute he was again strumming a guitar.

 

_the new song is great!_

 

The text came only one night after the single was released. And then a few days later came a snapchat of Bill singing along (badly) while he drove through Stockholm with his other Swedish teammate. Alex? He was pretty sure that was his name.

 

Niall didn't quite expect the reaction that he received from _This Town_. Suddenly he was getting calls from his agent to appear on this talk show and that award show. It wasn't quite the whirlwind that he was used to with One Direction, but it felt familiar. He knew this world.

 

_I'll be in NYC 10/28. Could stopover in Columbus if you're game._

 

_i'll meet you at the airport_

 

It was the first time Niall and Bill had spent a night together that wasn't in a hotel. Bill's bed smelled of his cologne, his shampoo. Niall wore one of his team-issued t-shirts the next morning. Predictably, it was too big. He tucked it under the toiletry bag in his suitcase anyway.

 

Bill kissed him goodbye. And stole his hat.

 

Niall didn't really mind.

 

He spent much of the next few weeks stateside, doing a Jingle Ball date and talk show performances. It was familiar, but not entirely--he wasn't used to doing these things alone. There were nights when the anxiety coiled in his gut and stole his breath.

 

_you've got this. deep breaths. rock it Niall!_

 

Bill's messages of encouragement were predictable and full of cliches, but they helped somehow. He found a few of his pre- and post-game interviews online--they were all laced with the same trite comments, but they still made Niall feel better.

 

Deep breaths. Rock it.

 

It became a nightly mantra. Slowly he got used to it, that lone spotlight in the middle of a stage.

 

Winter turned to spring and spring to summer. Niall kept writing. Finished an album once, revisited it, and completed it for real on the second go-round. Bill's team was eliminated from the playoffs and he went off to play for Sweden. He won gold. He called Niall on Facetime from the locker room afterward, drunk on victory and a lot of champagne.

 

"We're both gonna rock it, Niall! We're gonna run the world! Jag alskar dig, buddy! Later!"

 

He had rattled off the words too fast, was too drunk for Niall to be sure he'd heard right, and if he did, he didn't take them seriously. Inebriated rambling or not, it gave him a warm swell in his chest, no sense denying it.

 

He was inundated with pictures afterward, of Bill hanging his arms around teammates, gold medal draped at his neck, beaming with excitement and pride, a Swedish flag hung around his shoulders. He was on top of the world, and it was no small part of Niall that wished he could be there to join the celebration.

 

Then Vegas happened--an expansion draft, Bill had explained, filling the roster for a brand new team, that was what had sent him from the Midwest of the States to the desert. He was unsure, only knew a couple of his new teammates. His summer was spent in Sweden, but he texted often, wondering how this new city would accept them. Wondering if they would be good or not. Wondering if he'd find friends like he had in Columbus.

 

Before he flew off to a fresh start in Las Vegas, Bill was still in Stockholm for Niall's show. His hug was warm and affectionate, but quick to not draw suspicion. They milled about for a while, Niall introducing him to bandmates and managers, but ultimately they slipped out for the night. Niall had a hotel room, but they went to Bill's place instead.

 

It was a unique kind of torment, sweet and satisfying, to wake up in Bill's bed, Bill's hair tickling his nose and neck, limbs tangled and sweat-sticky. The alarm blared too early--Niall had another show, Bill had a flight to the States--and after a few lazy kisses they were up and moving and parting ways yet again.

 

Niall had a new band now, guys to bullshit with on the bus, guys to fill the too-empty stage around him. Crowds were somewhat quiet at first--no one knew the songs, so they only screamed between them--and he was getting used to how this worked as a solo artist. It was still a little weird, but he was figuring it out.

 

The week before his album was released, he barely wanted to go outside. What if no one liked it? What if he only sold 100 copies? What if it completely flopped?

 

He sent the album to Bill two days before it went live, just to get his thoughts.

 

_it's fuckin' perfect! Great work buddy!_

 

Niall had looked at the Golden Knights' schedule when the season started. They were in Boston the night before Niall played there. He bought tickets for the whole band.

 

_gonna be in Boston when you play there. wanna have dinner?_

 

Going out for dinner carried risks--being seen, being interrupted--so Bill came to Niall's hotel and they ordered delivery. They stole bites of each other's food while Bill talked about his new team, new city. Niall talked about his album going #1, about his bandmates. They kissed between stories. They lazily tugged at clothing until they were tangled up with nothing but the sheets and each other.

 

It was more than sex, but it wasn't quite making love. It might have meant nothing to Bill. Niall wasn't sure. Niall just knew it meant more than nothing to him. He wasn't going to see Bill for a while. He had shows to do for the rest of the year, and Bill had games to play. So they made the most of this one night, and when Bill came back from practice the next day, they spent the early afternoon doing the same, limbs entwined, lips red and a little bit raw.

 

"Won't see you for a while," soft-voiced, spoken into the artificial darkness provided by the curtains. "Few more shows and then home for Christmas."

 

"Lucky bastard," Bill replied, Swedish accent coming through thickly, a huff of breath against sweat-slick skin, "I'm not gonna be home until at least April."

 

"Just in time to see me in Stockholm."

 

Bill chuckled into the curve of Niall's neck, burrowing in close, like they didn't have to leave, like Bill's game suit wasn't hanging up waiting to be worn, like they weren't waking up in different cities tomorrow.

 

Niall spoke soft, "Gonna stay with me again?"

 

"Nope."

 

Niall sat up, his brow furrowed. They'd always stayed with each other if they were in the same city. "What? Why not?"

 

"I already have a place in Stockholm," Bill replied, his eyes bright, playful. "So _you_ are gonna stay with _me._ I'll even let you steal another shirt."

 

"You stole one of my hats!"

 

"It looks better on me!"

 

Niall couldn't argue with that.

 

April came and Niall got to Stockholm, and he did indeed stay with Bill. He stole another of his shirts. Niall also left a few things--an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, a pair of pajama pants in Bill's bottom drawer. Bill stole another of his hats. Niall still didn't mind.

 

Niall had planned for this, so they had a few days. They barely left Bill's apartment, ordering delivery and getting distracted with each other before they finished eating. They stayed in bed past noon, hardly bothering with clothes at all--they didn't stay on for long anyhow. They spent long minutes catching breath and waiting for pulses to slow, speaking in soft tones like the whole visit was a secret.

 

They'd never had time like this before. It was always rushed--just one night or maybe two, if they were lucky--whether it was Boston or Columbus or Vegas. But here it always felt different. Here always felt like coming home.

 

It all started in Stockholm, and when they were here, it sometimes felt like it would never end.

**Author's Note:**

> This is written in the same general verse as [Vänlig](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12948615) and I wanted to explore their history a little bit more.


End file.
